After the wedding reception ended at about 10:30, we headed back to the family farm. Feeling that I had enough cultural immersion for the day, I politely declined another round of tea and headed for bed - or rather the floor since no cots were in sight. I was directed to one of the three attached rooms outside of which was a row of modern sinks where the boys had put their toiletries. I envisioned four or five of us sprawled on the floor or squeezed on to the carpeted benches at the perimeter, neither option looking very attractive. A greater concern loomed as I started to notice the decline in temperature since the earlier evening. The room had become quite chilly, no obvious heating unit, no blankets in sight and my jogging suit serving as PJs. I was deciding how great offense it might be to inquire about a blanket when my colleague Shakir entered with a full sized blow-up mattress from KMart and a soft blanket. I thanked Shakir profusely and gave a silent prayer of thanks for my delivery from the floor. Also, though the boys trooped in to brush their teeth and change into sleepwear, I had the quarters to myself. All should have been good except that - at least by Saudi standards - it became quite cold, the first time I could apply that term in SA. The combination of unfamiliar surroundings, the temperature and a not quite adequate blanket made for a twisting, turning frigid half-sleep, interrupted periodically by chickens seranading outside the tent. Finally at about the first light I was able to doze off planning to sleep in for at least several hours.
However, soon thereafter I was being shaken awake by K. who was clearly inviting me for breakfast in Arabic and hand signs. Under the circumstances I had little choice but to make ready for the morning, thinking that eggs and toast with tea might be a welcome remedy for a sleepless night and the morning chill. We sat on the floor in the third room which was heated and the morning sun made it quite pleasant. The entrees were in large covered tureens set on the floor on plastic mats along with plates of jam, yoghurt, Arabic breads, black olives and canned tuna. When K removed the serving dish covers, my hopes for eggs (in any form) were deflated. One dish contain a thin broth or porrage with a potent aroma that I managed to avoid - yes, I'm a wimp, gastronomically speaking, especialy early in the day. The other offering was a camel stew which I did try and would have enjoyed later in the day. So I focused on mint tea, bread, jam and yoghurt which were all quite good, actually. Shakir had offered me both silverware and a chair but wanting to be one of the guys, declined both. As you likely know the traditional dining is done using bread as the spoon/fork and dipping into the common bowl, always sitting on the floor cross-legged.
The conversation was exclusively in Arabic and became quite animated after a guest arrived, a bearded middle-aged guy who I was informed was the local Imam. While understanding not a word of the heated conversation, it occured to me that they might be debating the appropriateness of breakfasting with an infidel in their midst - but given that courtesy to their guests is embedded in the Saudi DNA, I knew this wasn't likely. On the return trip home later that day, I learned the scoop: local politics. The imam had witten a letter to the local paper criticizing the chief of police for lax enforcement of some ordinance and the chief went to the local authority, the mayor or equivalent, to complain about this challenge to his reputation. The imam was expected to present a balanced view of the dispute in the mosque...Sounds much like Lawrenceville ward politics to me...
After breakfast I was encouraged to take a tour of the farm. Apparently, K ran the farm as a sideline to his own business interests. They raised lettuce and other vegetables primarily for home consumption, kept chickens and a herd of goats. The goats were a prized commodity being a breed with a long coat and a flat, narrow face, almost comical in appearance. In response to my question, Shakir told me that they weren't raised for their milk which is a popular commodity in the Kingdom but more for the pleasures of animal husbandry, including tending to the sick among the flock. I then complete a walk through the grounds accompanied by one of the younngsters who knew few words of English but we made the effort. The rows of plants and vegetables were lined with irrigation hoses and palm trees with an occasional pine tree with long soft needles. I could identify gourds and trees with a greenish-yellow fruit that reminded me of quince but otherwise the crop had already been picked. Although the acreage was extensive it had the appearance of a very large and sprawling garden, reminiscent of my grandfather's mini-farm, Wesley Sr, in Johnstown PA decades ago, a music teacher who was also a gentleman farmer.
Well, the little tour raised my spirits and warmed my bones - and by mid-morning we left the farm for the camel festival...
To be continued.
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Friday, January 20, 2012
Camping Out Part I: The Wedding
This weekend I had the rare but challenging opportunity to experience episodes in Saudi culture that relatively few expats have the opportunity to witness. I had been invited to spend an overnight at the ancestral farm of a Saudi colleague, AS, outside a small town, Al-Majma'ah, 200 KM north of Riyadh. The occasion for the trip was for AS, his son, his four brothers and several nephews and cousins to attend the wedding reception of a relative. This took place on a Wednesday evening and the plan was for me to spend the night with the guys and attend a Camel Festival the next day in a small community on the fringres of the desert, Um Rogabiyah. I met and had a brief chat with AS's wife (full veil) before we left but no women were on the guest list.
I characterized this venture as challenging for several reasons. As most of my family and close friends are aware, I am not comfortable in large social settings, especially absent the social buffer Janet provides so expertly. Furthermore this was a stretch for me well outside my new (Riyadhi) comfort zone. As a creature of habit I have developed a comfortable and sustaining routine (campus to compound to market to compound) which would be shattered by this trip into the heart of Saudi culture. Nonetheless it was an offer that I could not refuse without compelling reason as that would have been a major affront.
The 2-1/2 hour trip to the farm provided late afternoon and twilight views of what I can best decribe as scrub desert - flat, sandy plains with occasional small trees with horizontal canopies similar to those seen in National Geographic views of the African savanna, and close to the road an unfortunate zone of consumer detritus, trash bags, plastic bottles, retired truck tires. This was not Lawrence of Arabia vistas but it was a taste of things to come later. Once we left the lights of Riyadh and other thana small University campus near Al-Majma'ah, the Region was relatively unpopulated but for occasional groups of tents used by urban campers.
As a manifestation of my nervousness about the trip I was alert to the placement of gas stations, which fortunately were relatively frequent on this main highway which led eventually north to Kuwait. My colleague apologized for the inadequacies of the gas stations which he found unacceptably far below Western standards (as he had lived in the States for several years earning his advanced degrees). Having been forewarned, I avoided the "restrooms" with religious conviction...
Having arrived at the farm, which was primarily the responsibility of and weekend retreat for K, the eldest brother of the family, after dark it was difficult to sense the layout and extent of the property. I was invited to enter one large room (actually a permanent tent with hard walls) and was greeted by K who was watching a camel competition on a US tavern-sized TV screen. The room, at least 18' x 25' was carpeted in a dark red with beige geometric patterns. The seating was provided by low carpeted benches along the long sides of the room with moveable rectangular hard pillows used primarily as arm rests. Dark green and gold curtains covered the windows along the perimeter. Except for the TV the ambiance was, if not exactly Arabian nights, at least a more rustic equivalent... Even before the other brothers had arrived we sat on the floor enjoying dates and ginger tea. In truth, I don't enjoy the fresh dates - though being able to spit the seeds onto the table cloth provided is rather liberating - but the ginger tea, now that's another matter. The warm ginger is accented by an unknown (to the expat novice) spice with a hint of lemon leaving a peppery aftertaste. To say that I enjoyed it and willingly took three small cups is a small miracle, given my disdain toward tea being a bold coffee addict and advocate.
Slowly the family assembled having changed into thobes appropriate for the celebration. I was wearing the conservative sports jacket and slacks as my on-campus uniform, realizing I would blend in like a lump of coal thrown onto a snow bank... tension was mounting in spite of the ginger tea!
The wedding reception was held in a wedding hall, not unlike the suburban Pittsburgh equivalent except for the absence of a bar, wedding gifts, band and females. Men and boys were seated in red and gold upholstered chairs and love seats the length of the marble floored hall. Four elderly gents were seated in the row of chairs facing the entrance but appeared to have been offered choice seats and otherwise had no discernible role in the ceremony. Well, actually what was most notable - other than the expected (but for me, unforgiveable) exclusion of women - was the absence of ceremony in a formal sense. The basic ritual was an endless walk-around of guests expressing greetings to family, friends and acquaitances with handshakes and kisses on the cheek for close friends. While waiting to greet or be greeted and for the groom to enter, we sat sipping Arabic coffee and munching on the ubiquitous dates offered by tea boys dressed in robes, an image that for me evoked Kipling more than 1001 nights... Finally the groom and his entourage arrived, evident primarily by the timely appearance of the official photographer who had also been taking shots of small clusters of guests. [I would love to be a fly on the wall when the groom shares the photos with his bride showing a graying Western expat in coat and tie who crashed the party.]
After a final round of tea and mamouls (date-filled cookies, the local Oreos) and heralded by the teaboys goiung through the crowd with large censors of an acrid incense, we were urged to sit for dinner in an adjoining room. The groom, his father and other members of the groom's party sat at a banquet style head table but there were no speeches, toasts (considered haram along with alcohol), smooches between bride and groom since no bride present. The food was good and filling - and the excess of food was the primary link to the Western style wedding reception. The major entrees were camel and rice, beef and chicken strips, Arabic flat bread, a humous and vegie salad plate and an overflowing desert station where I opted for a tiramasu-like custard.
As the only expat in the place - perhaps the only one ever to be in this small town wedding hall - I consider it to have been a privileged experience, reflecting the unfailing courtesy of my colleague and his family. Nevertheless I left feeling both relieved - having apparently escaped without committing any obvious cross-cultural blunders - but also disappointed. From my outsider perspective, the celebration was oddly joyless, the atmosphere more of a subdued political rally for a novice candidate running in his first election but without the press or speeches. I'm confident that the men found it rewarding or at least satisfying, i.e., that they had participated according to custom and expectations and maintained the good name of their family... But I cannot describe what I observed as a celebration of the central focus, the joining together of the couple - impossible since SHE was absent and unspoken.
To be continued...
I characterized this venture as challenging for several reasons. As most of my family and close friends are aware, I am not comfortable in large social settings, especially absent the social buffer Janet provides so expertly. Furthermore this was a stretch for me well outside my new (Riyadhi) comfort zone. As a creature of habit I have developed a comfortable and sustaining routine (campus to compound to market to compound) which would be shattered by this trip into the heart of Saudi culture. Nonetheless it was an offer that I could not refuse without compelling reason as that would have been a major affront.
The 2-1/2 hour trip to the farm provided late afternoon and twilight views of what I can best decribe as scrub desert - flat, sandy plains with occasional small trees with horizontal canopies similar to those seen in National Geographic views of the African savanna, and close to the road an unfortunate zone of consumer detritus, trash bags, plastic bottles, retired truck tires. This was not Lawrence of Arabia vistas but it was a taste of things to come later. Once we left the lights of Riyadh and other thana small University campus near Al-Majma'ah, the Region was relatively unpopulated but for occasional groups of tents used by urban campers.
As a manifestation of my nervousness about the trip I was alert to the placement of gas stations, which fortunately were relatively frequent on this main highway which led eventually north to Kuwait. My colleague apologized for the inadequacies of the gas stations which he found unacceptably far below Western standards (as he had lived in the States for several years earning his advanced degrees). Having been forewarned, I avoided the "restrooms" with religious conviction...
Having arrived at the farm, which was primarily the responsibility of and weekend retreat for K, the eldest brother of the family, after dark it was difficult to sense the layout and extent of the property. I was invited to enter one large room (actually a permanent tent with hard walls) and was greeted by K who was watching a camel competition on a US tavern-sized TV screen. The room, at least 18' x 25' was carpeted in a dark red with beige geometric patterns. The seating was provided by low carpeted benches along the long sides of the room with moveable rectangular hard pillows used primarily as arm rests. Dark green and gold curtains covered the windows along the perimeter. Except for the TV the ambiance was, if not exactly Arabian nights, at least a more rustic equivalent... Even before the other brothers had arrived we sat on the floor enjoying dates and ginger tea. In truth, I don't enjoy the fresh dates - though being able to spit the seeds onto the table cloth provided is rather liberating - but the ginger tea, now that's another matter. The warm ginger is accented by an unknown (to the expat novice) spice with a hint of lemon leaving a peppery aftertaste. To say that I enjoyed it and willingly took three small cups is a small miracle, given my disdain toward tea being a bold coffee addict and advocate.
Slowly the family assembled having changed into thobes appropriate for the celebration. I was wearing the conservative sports jacket and slacks as my on-campus uniform, realizing I would blend in like a lump of coal thrown onto a snow bank... tension was mounting in spite of the ginger tea!
The wedding reception was held in a wedding hall, not unlike the suburban Pittsburgh equivalent except for the absence of a bar, wedding gifts, band and females. Men and boys were seated in red and gold upholstered chairs and love seats the length of the marble floored hall. Four elderly gents were seated in the row of chairs facing the entrance but appeared to have been offered choice seats and otherwise had no discernible role in the ceremony. Well, actually what was most notable - other than the expected (but for me, unforgiveable) exclusion of women - was the absence of ceremony in a formal sense. The basic ritual was an endless walk-around of guests expressing greetings to family, friends and acquaitances with handshakes and kisses on the cheek for close friends. While waiting to greet or be greeted and for the groom to enter, we sat sipping Arabic coffee and munching on the ubiquitous dates offered by tea boys dressed in robes, an image that for me evoked Kipling more than 1001 nights... Finally the groom and his entourage arrived, evident primarily by the timely appearance of the official photographer who had also been taking shots of small clusters of guests. [I would love to be a fly on the wall when the groom shares the photos with his bride showing a graying Western expat in coat and tie who crashed the party.]
After a final round of tea and mamouls (date-filled cookies, the local Oreos) and heralded by the teaboys goiung through the crowd with large censors of an acrid incense, we were urged to sit for dinner in an adjoining room. The groom, his father and other members of the groom's party sat at a banquet style head table but there were no speeches, toasts (considered haram along with alcohol), smooches between bride and groom since no bride present. The food was good and filling - and the excess of food was the primary link to the Western style wedding reception. The major entrees were camel and rice, beef and chicken strips, Arabic flat bread, a humous and vegie salad plate and an overflowing desert station where I opted for a tiramasu-like custard.
As the only expat in the place - perhaps the only one ever to be in this small town wedding hall - I consider it to have been a privileged experience, reflecting the unfailing courtesy of my colleague and his family. Nevertheless I left feeling both relieved - having apparently escaped without committing any obvious cross-cultural blunders - but also disappointed. From my outsider perspective, the celebration was oddly joyless, the atmosphere more of a subdued political rally for a novice candidate running in his first election but without the press or speeches. I'm confident that the men found it rewarding or at least satisfying, i.e., that they had participated according to custom and expectations and maintained the good name of their family... But I cannot describe what I observed as a celebration of the central focus, the joining together of the couple - impossible since SHE was absent and unspoken.
To be continued...
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Blog respite
Due to a more intense period at work, having been drafted to teach one week of a course in HIT on short notice, the blog has been AWOL. Although I've been teaching for 30+ years, I still had some anxiety about facing a class of Saudi adult learners most of whom are employed in the King Abdulaziz Medical Center. I have always tried to leaven my lectures with humor and would characterize my style (on my best days) as focused, intense but participatory, and somewhat free-wheeling (not always following my own script to follow an interesting digression). So I was not at all confident that this unorthodox approach would work in the Saudi context. Although I was pleased with the level of interaction and student responsiveness, you would need to ask the students whether it worked for them...
Last weekend I had been invited to the home of a faculty colleague for lunch. Although in a different context this would be welcome and require little preparation, the fact that this would be my first immersion into the Saudi home, a venue that has an almost sacred aura, put me in a state of mid-level alert. The first challenge would be to decide upon an appropriate gift and upon the advice of my closest colleague, a young hip Muslim Canadian, went bearing chocolates...
The key to expat survival in Riyadh is to identify and bond with a limo (taxi) driver who speaks English, is totally dependable and asks a fair price and for whom you develop a possessive attachment. Have arranged for a round trip with my driver, Abdul, a really good and perceptive guy from Pakistsan who has taught me much about Riyadh and Saudi culture, I was ready. My host greeted me as the limo approached his villa - the private homes are almost always behind walls and grouped in compounds, condominium style - and insisted on paying Abdul for the round trip over my protests.
Having entered his home Dr. Shakir welcomed me to sit with him in the living room which reminded me strangely of my maternal grandparent's "sitting room" for guests adjacent to their larger living room.He offered Saudi coffee - which of course I accepted graciously but of which I'm not a great fan (strong earthy tea pretending to be real coffee!) and mahmoul, a date filled pastry. Then Shakir invited his two elementary school children, to sit with us while we talked. The daughter, a 4th grader, proudly showed me her English lit reader, and her father informed me that she was an excellent student who aspired to be a physician. His 2nd grade son was likely more interested in football, i.e., soccer, than his studies but both identified electronic games as their favorite recreation - which they are only allowed to pursue on the weekends. The children were exceptionally well-behaved and patient, a reflection of course of parental training and cultural values. So I spent a very pleasant hour of family time, however, with one important member of the family missing.
Shakir then invited me into the dining room for a very full lunch, a rich bean soup, chicken with rice as the main course, cucumber and tomato salad, tabouli, and wonderful puffs filled with cheese, chicken or spinach (the name eludes me, but I was given a platter to go!). This was by far the best meal I've had since arriving in the Kingdom as it's hard to beat "home cooking"! The children joined us with their separate menu of chicken fingers and fries but their mother not in sight.
After lunch, Shakir and I returned to the living room to discuss a text book on leadership in the Middle East context that he wants us to develop collaboratively, an exciting prospect. After a round of mint tea and cookies, it was time to leave. Although I caught a glimpse of a woman from behind the dining room door that was left ajar, who I assume was Shakir's wife, we were never introduced nor was she mentioned directly in conversation.
This is the one aspect of Saudi culture that I find most perplexing and difficult to accept. I am a regular reader of the Arab News, the English language edition, which to my surprise often has articles about discrimination of Saudi women in the workplace and editorials supporting women's employment rights and occasionally addressing the debate over the prohibition on women's driving. However, change comes slowly in SA to say the least So I expect that achieving greater gender equality, if it happens at all, will not occur until the current generation of the ruling family passes.
The underlying theme of this vignette, however, was the warm hospitality and graciousness of my host and his family and my experiencing a sense of familiarity with the domestic scene - with the one notable exception... The Saudi people I have met almost without exception have been warm, gracious and generous. However, I also have my eyes open, realizing that in some quarters there is active resentment toward the Western expat community, and perhaps US citizens especially. What is clear is that in my College, US faculty, curricular models and expertise in research are highly prized commodities.
Enough for now, but I plan to be more diligent with my Blog continuity in the future, inshah-allah!
Wes
Last weekend I had been invited to the home of a faculty colleague for lunch. Although in a different context this would be welcome and require little preparation, the fact that this would be my first immersion into the Saudi home, a venue that has an almost sacred aura, put me in a state of mid-level alert. The first challenge would be to decide upon an appropriate gift and upon the advice of my closest colleague, a young hip Muslim Canadian, went bearing chocolates...
The key to expat survival in Riyadh is to identify and bond with a limo (taxi) driver who speaks English, is totally dependable and asks a fair price and for whom you develop a possessive attachment. Have arranged for a round trip with my driver, Abdul, a really good and perceptive guy from Pakistsan who has taught me much about Riyadh and Saudi culture, I was ready. My host greeted me as the limo approached his villa - the private homes are almost always behind walls and grouped in compounds, condominium style - and insisted on paying Abdul for the round trip over my protests.
Having entered his home Dr. Shakir welcomed me to sit with him in the living room which reminded me strangely of my maternal grandparent's "sitting room" for guests adjacent to their larger living room.He offered Saudi coffee - which of course I accepted graciously but of which I'm not a great fan (strong earthy tea pretending to be real coffee!) and mahmoul, a date filled pastry. Then Shakir invited his two elementary school children, to sit with us while we talked. The daughter, a 4th grader, proudly showed me her English lit reader, and her father informed me that she was an excellent student who aspired to be a physician. His 2nd grade son was likely more interested in football, i.e., soccer, than his studies but both identified electronic games as their favorite recreation - which they are only allowed to pursue on the weekends. The children were exceptionally well-behaved and patient, a reflection of course of parental training and cultural values. So I spent a very pleasant hour of family time, however, with one important member of the family missing.
Shakir then invited me into the dining room for a very full lunch, a rich bean soup, chicken with rice as the main course, cucumber and tomato salad, tabouli, and wonderful puffs filled with cheese, chicken or spinach (the name eludes me, but I was given a platter to go!). This was by far the best meal I've had since arriving in the Kingdom as it's hard to beat "home cooking"! The children joined us with their separate menu of chicken fingers and fries but their mother not in sight.
After lunch, Shakir and I returned to the living room to discuss a text book on leadership in the Middle East context that he wants us to develop collaboratively, an exciting prospect. After a round of mint tea and cookies, it was time to leave. Although I caught a glimpse of a woman from behind the dining room door that was left ajar, who I assume was Shakir's wife, we were never introduced nor was she mentioned directly in conversation.
This is the one aspect of Saudi culture that I find most perplexing and difficult to accept. I am a regular reader of the Arab News, the English language edition, which to my surprise often has articles about discrimination of Saudi women in the workplace and editorials supporting women's employment rights and occasionally addressing the debate over the prohibition on women's driving. However, change comes slowly in SA to say the least So I expect that achieving greater gender equality, if it happens at all, will not occur until the current generation of the ruling family passes.
The underlying theme of this vignette, however, was the warm hospitality and graciousness of my host and his family and my experiencing a sense of familiarity with the domestic scene - with the one notable exception... The Saudi people I have met almost without exception have been warm, gracious and generous. However, I also have my eyes open, realizing that in some quarters there is active resentment toward the Western expat community, and perhaps US citizens especially. What is clear is that in my College, US faculty, curricular models and expertise in research are highly prized commodities.
Enough for now, but I plan to be more diligent with my Blog continuity in the future, inshah-allah!
Wes
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